At The Abbey Theatre

DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.When we are high and airy hundreds sayThat if we hold that flight they’ll leave the place,While those same hundreds mock another dayBecause we have made our art of common things,So bitterly, you’d dream they longed to lookAll their lives through into some drift of wings.You’ve dandled them and fed them from the bookAnd know them to the bone; impart to us —We’ll keep the secret — a new trick to please.Is there a bridle for this ProteusThat turns and changes like his draughty seas?Or is there none, most popular of men,But when they mock us, that we mock again?